


You Found Me

by tridecaphilia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Takes Care Of Stiles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, Episode: s03e22 De-Void, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Nogitsune Trauma, Nudity, Post-Episode: s03e22 De-Void, Pre-Slash, Sleep, in a totally non-sexy context, references to other characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-16 00:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1324132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tridecaphilia/pseuds/tridecaphilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles expects Scott or his dad to be the one to take him home. It's not. It's Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Found Me

**Author's Note:**

> In my head this is canon with "Lost and Found," but it does stand alone and you absolutely 100% do not have to have read Lost and Found to understand this.

Stiles expects it to be Scott or his dad who takes him home. It isn’t. Scott and his dad both have to leave to find Lydia, and Stiles is too dead _tired_ to help just yet. Even though he knows he should, knows the nogitsune’s plans are somewhere in his head, his brain is spinning too much to find them, let alone communicate them.

Instead, Peter makes a phone call, and ten minutes later Derek pulls up outside.

When Derek picks him up, Stiles tries to protest that he can walk; but given that the words come out in a jumble he doesn’t really blame Derek for not listening. The jolt of adrenaline that hit when Scott and Lydia found him, and when he spilled out of the nogitsune into his own body, has faded and left him as tired as he was before this started.

Derek carries him out to his car, settles him in the front seat, and gets in the driver’s seat to head to Stiles’ house. Stiles sleeps through the drive.

When Derek reaches his house he again picks up Stiles and carries him, and Stiles doesn’t even try to protest this time. The door is locked but Stiles manages to mumble the location of the hide-a-key, and Derek unlocks the door and carries Stiles in in a one-handed bridal style that seems specifically designed to show off his werewolf strength.

Derek carries him up to his room and sets him gently on the edge of the bed, sitting up. Stiles has forgotten, by now, that he’s still wrapped in the dirty bandages and ripped clothes of the nogitsune’s former body. He remembers now only because Derek is peeling them back.

He starts with Stiles’ hands. He goes slow, checking to be sure the bandages won’t stick, that Stiles isn’t injured under them. His fingers examine Stiles’ skin as he goes, and it feels nice. At some point Stiles lets his head fall forward onto Derek’s shoulder, and Derek lets him.

Derek moves on to the clothes. They’re not Stiles’ and they’re not salvageable, so he rips them open with a claw and slides them off him. This lets Stiles stay where he is, head resting on Derek and hands going wherever Derek moves them, and he’s not sure if that was the intention but he’s grateful.

There are more bandages under the shirt and pants, of course. The nogitsune’s old host died with burns covering every inch of him. Derek takes those off just as slowly as he had the others, examining every inch of Stiles. There are cuts and scrapes that Stiles has no idea how he got, not that Derek asks. Derek lays him down on the bed and goes to get bandages and a washcloth and Neosporin from the bathroom.

Stiles is a hundred percent sure this is overkill, at this point, but he really doesn’t care. He’ll feel guilty about everything that’s happened later, when he’s not so _tired_. For now it’s nice just to let Derek take care of things. Take care of _him._

Derek bandages every cut on Stiles’ torso and arms and legs—they’re small but there are a lot of them, and Stiles has no idea how he got them, except that in his head sometimes his imagined body felt wrong and itched, and he would scratch at it, and sometimes he ended up drawing blood, and maybe that carried over to this body. He doesn’t know. He’s too tired to care.

He doesn’t even really think about the fact that he’s naked under all the bandages until he feels Derek sliding a pair of boxers over his legs, lifting his hips up to get them on. He should be embarrassed about that, but again: _way_ too tired, so he doesn’t bother.

Derek asks him something, but Stiles doesn’t hear him. He lets his head fall to the side until he’s almost, sort of, looking at Derek.

“Do you want pajamas?” Derek asks again.

This strikes him as a silly thing to ask. He doesn’t have an answer. He just wants to sleep. He closes his eyes.

Derek takes that as a no, apparently, and picks up Stiles enough to pull the covers out from under him. He settles Stiles down gently and pulls the covers up over him again, tucking them firmly around him. Stiles thankfully is either too lucid or too tired to say anything ridiculous.

He’s apparently not too tired, however, to reach out and catch Derek’s sleeve when the wolf turns to go.

He thinks Derek turns to look at him, but given that his eyes are half-closed he’s not sure about that. He gives a slight tug on Derek’s sleeve, or maybe he’s just trying to drop his arm and getting his hand tangled instead. He doesn’t know, and doesn’t care. He wants Derek to stay, though—even as tired as he is, he knows that much.

The bed dips a little and it takes Stiles a moment to realize Derek has sat down on the edge. He feels surprisingly gentle fingers run through his hair, combing it back.

Derek says something, but Stiles doesn’t catch it. The warmth in the tone makes him think it’s something good, though, and between that and the soothing motion of Derek’s hand through his hair, Stiles finally, finally goes to sleep.


End file.
